Work Text:
It's not normal to expect an attack during work hours. It's not normal to prepare against invisible evil remnants within people. It's not normal to witness events beyond human comprehension from time to time.
That's for any other person.
But for the official beyonders, it's protocol, routine, part of a real workday that happens at most every two weeks.
However, what isn't normal for these people —not even something they expect within their open minds of strange possibilities— is that all of the above occurs in the place they consider one of the safest in the city: Beneath the church.
They'd been searching for the Antigonus family notebook for a week. A week of trying to find a new trail of clues without success.
Any trace died along with Welch and Naya.
But there was a phantom possibility. A witness. Or another victim.
The Tingen Nighthawks weren't even 100% sure if Klein Moretti was with his friends that fateful night, but given that the University of Khoy's professors described them as close, and the fact that the recent graduate hadn't returned on the night of June 27, the chances were much higher.
Unfortunately, that was all for naught if you can't find the lead.
They interviewed everyone who knew the three students, then summarized everything to get a general idea specific to Klein Moretti.
Moretti Family:
Klein was shy and reserved. He had no friends outside of Welch and Naya.
During his college years, he spent most of the week on campus studying and sleeping in the dorms.
“At first, he came home every other day along side Saturdays and Sundays. Then, we didn’t see him until the weekends. And in the last year, he would even stay there for a whole week…” -Benson Moretti.
On the morning of June 27, Klein told his sister he would be back in time for dinner. He didn’t. They haven’t been contacted either.
Dunn still remembers Melissa Moretti’s pleading look when she grabbed his arm before leaving the small apartment.
“Please find my brother, officer.”
She tried to sound as composed and mature as possible, but her glassy eyes and hoarse voice betrayed her.
Dunn knows that making those kinds of promises creates a burden of unnecessary emotional expectations, so, with a professional tone that bordered on empathy, he said, “We’ll do our best.”
Getting back to the notes, the next one might finally plant a possible clue and point them in some direction.
Teachers and a student friend of Welch:
Klein was also very close to Lecturer Azik Eggers. It started small, staying extra minutes after class ended. Then, asking for private tutoring sessions whenever Azik had time. Later, someone saw them walking together off campus.
Rumors began, and one student maliciously joked to another professor that this closeness might lead to favoritism when grading academic performance. Azik Eggers quickly clarified that this would never happen, and that at most, he and Klein had built a brotherly bond.
Additionally, another student claimed to have overheard a private conversation between Klein and Azik, where the student called him “Dad.” This was soon corroborated by Welch, who joked that those two, quote: “They act more like father and son than I do with my dad.”
By the time the incident occurred, Azik Eggers was on vacation.
‘And he's coming back tomorrow.’ The Nighthawks thought.
With such a close bond, perhaps this lecturer had information that could be useful in the investigation. As for whether that path would lead to another dead end… that remained to be seen.
...
Until someone frantically knocked on the door of Blackthorn Security Company.
It was the assistant to the vice-principal of the University of Khoy. Between gasps, she said, almost shouting, the phrase no one wanted to hear, but everyone expected.
“W-We found a b-body in the dorms!”
The dorms had been closed since the end of classes in early June.
Security guards were on duty every night.
Staff cleaned the rooms once a week.
Klein Moretti had moved out permanently about a month ago.
That's why it didn't occur to the Nighthawks, the university staff, or the Moretti siblings to look there.
It wasn't until a cleaning staff member was on a floor below that they noticed the smell.
Upon arriving, what reflected in the Nighthawks' eyes was the same one they had witnessed a week earlier, but much more unpleasant.
The scene was obvious from the start. Suicide. The body was on the floor, lying face up, and the fingers of the right hand were still touching the handle of a revolver.
The body had the exact characteristics of a corpse in advanced decomposition. An unrecognizable face, limbs painted a dark brownish-black, greenish lines were visible beneath the skin, a dark green stain adorned the abdomen, and the skin on the hands appeared loose, like that of a snake shedding its skin.
Furthermore, the floor was stained with various fluids recently expelled from the body, contributing greatly to the unbearable stench in the room.
Well-accustomed and adapted to this suffocating environment, Frye was the one who stepped forward.
Unfortunately, there wasn't much beyond the obvious. And aside from Old Nel's divination confirming that this was Klein Moretti, the Antigonus family notebook was nowhere to be found.
The conclusion was… another dead end. Or rather, an ending that left many doors open.
Why did Klein Moretti return to his dorm if he no longer lived there? How did he evade the guards? How did the guards not hear the gunshot or notice the smell for a week until the cleaning person arrived?
Nothing made sense.
—Something normal in the supernatural world. But this time, it felt a little more frustrating because of the time they spent searching in nothingness.—
The last thing the Nighthawks had to do was take the body to the family and give it a proper burial.
Since the body was completely limp, they had to be very careful when moving it to the church's underground area. To the morgue.
They found him, but not as the family would have wanted… A shame.
Is this how this story ends?
No, of course not, they still have to find that cursed notebook.
However…
Who would have thought that would soon be the least of their problems?
Azik’s first introduction to Klein Moretti was anything but ordinary. It came not with a greeting, but through a borrowed visage reflected in another child’s eyes.
The then eighteen-year-old had looked up at him warily, shoulders tensing as he backed away, clutching his stack of books close with obvious nervousness.
A flush of shame then crept up Mr. Moretti’s face as he bowed too quickly, apologizing for carelessly bumping into him in the middle of the school hallway, and Azik had stared. Far longer than he should have, really, unreasonably captivated by the threads of melancholy woven deep within him.
Then he had smiled, waving off the younger one’s worries as efficiently as he could, even though he was brimming with anxiety at the sudden unanswered questions.
“Those books,” he had pointed out, trying to start a decent conversation, or perhaps even an effective distraction, “what are they about?”
And at once, Mr. Moretti’s face had lit up with such youthful enthusiasm that Azik nearly found himself blindsided by the fleeting visions of children staring up at him with the same expression.
After that—the rest was history.
Azik ran a finger along the weathered bricks of an old house that he had—after much searching—come to believe was once his. He didn’t remember ever owning it. Still, something about it stirred a faint, almost spiritual impression.
Something he could only now associate with the supernatural. It didn’t bring his memories back. But at the very least, it lifted his spirits to know that his past had truly existed, even if he could no longer remember it.
“Well,” Azik sighed, resting his forehead against the wall, “there goes all that trouble.” He let out a quiet, self-deprecating chuckle, a hint of helplessness in it. So much for this being a fruitful vacation. “Time to go back, then,” he concluded easily.
He had planned to check in on Klein after his interview. Considering how hard the kid had studied for that moment, he had no doubt it had already gone well. Which was a little disappointing, since he hadn’t been there to see it happen.
Azik glanced back at the house, a faint sense of unease stirring within him, as though it were trying to warn him of something. Yet, no matter how hard he racked his brain, he couldn’t come up with any explanation. Perhaps it was just a coincidence.
With that thought in mind, Azik shook his head and continued on his way back home.
The revelation struck him like a blow to the soul. Azik had only planned a simple visit to the university to check on a few matters. And perhaps even learn how his student’s interview was progressing. Instead, he was met with the sight of police officers in the midst of what appeared to be a very serious investigation.
Azik paused, struggling to take it all in. Had something happened? What was all this commotion about? What crime had been committed?
It wasn’t really difficult to find out. A single question to a bystander was quite enough to piece it all together. Just a few days ago, Mr. Welch and Miss Naya had died in what was believed to be a burglary. And in the aftermath, Klein had gone missing.
Only to be found now. Days later. In the dormitories, where his body had lain, decaying in silence, unnoticed by anyone. Where Klein had likely died alone, in a place that should never have become his resting place. When his future should have been bright and full of promise.
It was honestly hard to believe that such a thing had happened while he was out searching for his memories.
The officer Azik had managed to stop was young. The said man paused, glancing curiously at the hand gripping his shoulder.
Azik did not beg, not exactly, but it came close in the way he insisted on seeing his student’s body.
The officer only offered him a tense, polite smile before explaining that, as part of the investigation, access to the body was restricted for the time being.
Azik had tried to press further, but protocol was firm. In the end, he was left standing there, hollowed out by an ache he could not quite name.
He and Klein had been close for, at least, four years. That much made the reality of such a thing all the more disorienting.
Azik grieved.
This… is a memory.
Golden sunlight filtered through the window, drifting in like a quiet tide, carrying with it the soft warmth of a fleeting, ordinary day. Outside, lush greenery swayed in the idle breeze, their motions slow and languid, as if caught in a dream. Within the room, the gentle rustle of turning pages echoed in sync, and in the stillness of a reverie, Azik lifted his teacup and took an unhurried, graceful sip.
“Mr. Azik?” Klein called out, tinged with its usual caution. And Azik paused, already anticipating the nature of the question. He placed his cup down and hummed.
“Yes?” he replied, trying to make the younger one continue his inquiry.
Klein traced the worn edge of the book in his hands, his gaze lingering on the inked lines. “Were people in the past always… so superstitious?” he asked.
A brief silence followed. Azik considered, reflective. “Yes,” he said at last, “it would seem so, wouldn’t it?”
Klein hesitated, as if weighing each word he wished to ask. Noticing this, Azik allowed a faint, friendly smile to surface—gentle, and reassuring—like a patient teacher indulging a perpetually curious mind.
“Do you think…” Klein began, slower this time, “that such things were real? That something like Mysticism truly existed? For people to believe wholeheartedly in it… it must be true in some way, right?”
Azik’s gaze drifted, as if following something far beyond the present moment. “Perhaps,” he answered, “and perhaps not.” He paused and sighed. “In a way, isn’t it similar to the official churches?”
Klein tilted his head slightly. “You mean… belief in the divine?” he asked, curious. “So believing in such things… is no different from religion?”
Azik chuckled. “It does seem that way,” he admitted, “but what prompted this discussion?”
Klein’s earlier hesitation faded, replaced by an instant flicker of eagerness. He turned the pages of the book, pointing to a particular passage. “In this section,” he said, “a father prayed to what they called the God of Death.”
Azik paused, but he did not dare interrupt. “He believed… it could resurrect his son,” Klein continued, “but the next morning, he was found dead.”
“Is that so?” Azik murmured, and Klein nodded at his words.
“The texts said that he must have attempted some kind of dark divination,” Klein explained, “it was proven by a lot of evidence that he offered himself in exchange for divine intervention.”
“I see,” Azik replied, “he must have loved his son deeply.”
“Yes,” Klein nodded, “but to attempt such a thing… is it faith?”
“Fathers are capable of many things for their sons,” Azik answered simply. “It could be just that in the end.”
And just like that, the matter came to a quiet end—like a ripple fading across still water—forever enraptured in the peaceful moments of time and history.
Dunn Smith knew of dimness well. It was part of his Pathway. To be shrouded in darkness. To walk where light dared not linger. Yet, something felt wrong about the haze fluctuating within his spirituality. It resembled the unlit corners of the Church of Evernight—the lurking dangers beneath the abysmal unknown. Eerie. Overpowering. Keen, like a predator watching from afar, hunting its prey.
Then, the body on the table began to move—rotten skin turning smooth, dull eyes beginning to vibrate, fingers twitching as though stuck mid-motion—limbs twisting as if its bones were malleable. The world dimmed, enveloped in shadows.
In the peculiarity of it all, something rattled, sounding like towering stacks of bones. And before anyone could react, two skeletal hands plucked the corpse from the examination table.
‘What,’ Dunn barely thought, instinctively grabbing his teammates and pulling them close as they quickly backed away.
“What is that?” Frye hissed, his face growing paler with every passing second.
“Death?” Dunn heard Leonard murmur, as though he were speaking to someone else. And he was about to try pulling it into a dream when the surrounding air reeked of death—death—death—
“Come on, then,” another voice called—soft, imposing—as though it wasn’t something heinous from somewhere hellish. “Let’s leave.”
“Don’t look—Don’t look—Don’t look—” his intuition warned, and Dunn had to keep his eyes shut to combat the overpowering headache building inside his skull. “You will die if you look at an Angel.”
‘An Angel?’ Dunn thought, anxious, ‘what?’ However, before anything could escalate into a bloodbath—the surroundings calmed. As though nothing had ever been there in the first place.
Leonard gasped, as if he hadn’t breathed in ages. “What was that?” he asked shakily, his hands trembling as they rested on his knees.
Dunn didn’t answer immediately, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Alert the headquarters,” he murmured, still slightly uncomposed.
“Frye,” he added when no one moved, “alert the headquarters—now.”
Amid the commotion, the only calm one was the now-empty stretcher where a body had recently lain, and now was returned to where it belonged.